October comes in like it 's about to miss the bus. All the leaves 'still bright green towards the end of September 'burst into oranges and reds and yellows all at once. It 's as if the world went to bed in the summer and woke up four months later.

The weather drops drastically too. Yor tells Anya to put on her thickest coat and slides mittens onto her hands every morning. It might be overkill, but Anya lets her do it, so Loid never interferes 'though he may if Anya keeps 'losing ' her mittens. She knows what he thinks about that, too, because every time Yor helps her into a new pair, Anya grins over her mother 's head at him like an imp.

Things between him and Yor are still a bit strange a week later. Conversation doesn 't come as easily between them as it did before, but then again, Loid has always been the easygoing, accommodating one, good at filling empty spaces. Twilight is more taciturn. And with all their cards laid out, pretending to be somebody he's not no longer seems necessary 'or appealing. Without somebody making up for the gap between their social skills, though, they 're just left with lots of awkward silences. Still, they manage to fall into a peaceful rapport, whether there are words involved or not.

Twilight attributes that to Yor. She 's not hard to like. She 's never been. Doubting her had been his own error, though trying to wrap his head around that remains difficult.

Nevertheless 'once breakfast is cleared away and he goes back into his room to change into something more appropriate for an outing at the park 'when Yor shrieks one morning, Twilight bursts out of his bedroom in nothing but an undershirt and suit pants still unzipped at the fly, gun in his hands as he hurtles into the kitchen, where Yor 's bloodcurdling scream is coming from.

There 's nothing there though. Yor is shrinking into the farthest corner beside the sink, hands to her mouth as she trembles and continues to try to wedge herself into the wallpaper. Her eyes are wet. Twilight knows better than to think that just because there isn 't anything visible, there isn 't somebody there. Her panicked eyes dart to his, then away. Twilight follows her gaze. But there 's nothing.

Then he sees it. A fat, brown blot against the kitchen tile. It heads towards him, cutting diagonal, and Twilight yelps, leaping back, muzzle flying in its direction. Yor screams again and begins to climb up the cabinetry.

The cockroach zips towards Twilight in an agonizing stop-and-go. Between Yor 's screaming and the adrenaline coursing through his body, his only thought is to trip the safety on his gun and squeeze the trigger. Once the insect flies 'if it flies 'there 's no knowing the damage it will incur.

'Papa, no! ' Anya shouts behind him, and something whacks him in the head. He catches it deftly before it can hit the ground. A slipper.

Stumbling towards the roll of paper towels, Twilight grabs an unidentified number of them, tearing them clumsily from the dowel and then shoving the slipper onto his foot. The cockroach is still, only its antenna quivering. He smacks the paper towel over it and just as quickly slams his slippered foot over the sheets. Then he twists his foot several times for good measure.

Twilight doesn 't step off, though. They all stand stock still where they are, Anya behind the wall as she peers in, Twilight over the towels, and Yor on the counter.

'Is it ' is it dead? ' She squeaks.

Chest heaving, Twilight removes his foot. There 's too many paper towels to see whether he 's marked his target 'which is a good thing. He doesn 't ' want to see that. Crouching to the floor, he lifts the corner of the napkins. Tentatively. Hesitantly.

A second later, he slams them back down, looking a little green. 'It 's dead. '

The breath of relief Yor releases would have anybody thinking she 'd just stopped the apocalypse. She climbs off the counter but doesn 't come any closer. Twilight blinks at her, and she flushes. 'Could you ' could you throw it away? '

After another somewhat uneasy beat, Twilight crumples the napkins against the floor, making sure to fold the body in. He wipes the floor, then tosses the wad into the bin. When he looks at Yor for confirmation that he 's done enough, she deflates with restored peace.

'Thank you, Loid. ' She smiles.

Loid smiles back. And then he chuckles. Yor is momentarily taken aback, but then she begins to giggle too. Behind them, Anya also snickers.

'

Becky pouts when the bell rings, knowing Anya will be heading down to the front to take her seat beside Damian for English. To her dismay, this no longer seems to bother Anya. She gathers her things without complaint, scooting off her seat once she 's done.

Becky grabs her arm. Squints at her best friend. 'Is he holding you hostage? Blackmailing you? '

Anya gawks at her for a second, then shakes her head. 'No. He 's okay! '

Baffled, Becky reels back. 'He 's okay? '

'He 's been helping me! '

'Didn 't you punch him? Again? That 's what I heard, at least. '

'I threw my book at him. But I said sorry! '

'You said sorry?! '

'Well, Papa 's Boss Lady took us out and things were okay after that. I ' haven 't actually said sorry yet. ' A contemplative look drifts over Anya 's features.

'Papa ' Loid? Loid 's boss? She took the

both

of you out? ' Becky 's head is spinning with all this new news. Does she even know her best friend anymore? Does her best friend have a new best friend? What about her?! What is she supposed to do?! 'Anya! You have to tell me these things! '

'I just did. '

'No! You have to tell me when they happen! '

Anya looks perplexed. 'Okay. Sorry, Becky. '

'It 's fine, ' she says with a huff. 'Well, let me know if you need anything. '

'Okay. ' Anya smiles at her, and it makes her feel a little better. But then her gaze catches on Damian, and she wants to shout all over again. He 's looking at her smugly.

So it 's with vindictive delight that Becky watches his ego drop when Mr. Henderson shows up at their classroom door requesting him. His whole body turns ashen, and she grins nastily at him, which makes him glare at her.

'And Miss Forger, if you 'd please come with me as well. '

Becky 's smile collapses. She watches in horror as Anya 'her best friend 's face contorting with displeasure 'joins Damian.

'Wonderful. Follow me. '

They 're ushered out the door, but Damian somehow has the wherewithal to shoot Becky one last renewed look of conceit before he disappears down the hall with Anya.

'

'I 'm sure you 're both aware of why I 've brought you here, ' says Mr. Henderson from the other side of his desk. 'I am, however, a week late, for which I apologize. Because of that, I 've decided it would be inelegant of me to give you both Tonitrus Bolts when I myself have not practised being considerate. '

Anya 's face lights up. She glances at Damian excitedly, who 's in a similar state as her. He, however, closes off a little when their eyes meet, ears turning red.

'That being said, I would still like an explanation. '

Crickets chirp. The minute hand slides one tick along the wall clock behind Mr. Henderson. Finally, Damian opens his mouth. Indecision wars across his features. 'It was my fault, I provo ' '

'Mama and Papa have been fighting a lot and so I was stressed! ' blurts Anya.

Mr. Henderson 's brows fly so high up, they become visible. 'Your mother and father haven 't been getting along? '

Perhaps they 're having disagreements about how to deal with Loid Forger 's aunt Sylvia showing up so unexpectedly?

'Yes, ' Anya says solemnly, nodding her head with gravity. 'They are having disagreements about how to deal with Papa 's aunt Sylvia showing up unexpectedly. '

'My, my. I 'm sorry to hear that. '

'It 's okay! They 're okay now. They even said sorry to me. And now Sy-On B 'Damian and I do our homework together peacefully! '

'Is that so? '

Hopefully this helps her inelegant grades as well.

'Yes, and Sy-On B 'Damian is very helpful. He 's very smart and knows a lot of words, and he 's nice to me too. He answers all my questions and doesn 't call me names! I 'm glad to have his help. '

'Is that so! '

'Yes! And sometimes Aunt Sylvia helps. She likes

Pride and Prejudice.

I 'll have elegant grades at the end of the year. Don 't worry, Mr. Henderson! '

'I 'm pleased to hear that. How elegant. '

Anya beams. 'Are you going to give me and Sy 'Damian Stella Stars now? '

'No. '

'Oh. Ok. '

She turns to look at Damian. He 's gaping at her, entire head red like he 's been dipped in paint. Anya looks at him apologetically and shrugs. She tried.

'

'Do you want to come to my house and read? ' chirps Anya after the final bell has rung.

Damian is still reeling from their morning encounter with Mr. Henderson. What did she mean? Does she want to be friends? Or is she using him? Again? Is it even a good idea to be friends with her? Should he put an end to this now?

'Unless you can 't, ' she says, voice small. 'I understand. '

'It 's fine, I 'll go, ' Damian mumbles, packing his bag and standing. He waits for Anya to lead the way, but she only stands and stares at him. 'What?! '

'Are you okay? '

Heat prickles through him again. Instinct drives him to snap 'Yes! So move it! ' but what comes out instead is, 'Why did you say all that stuff? '

She continues to watch him with an empty-headedness that he 's come to associate with only her. 'Stuff? '

'In Mr. Henderson 's office! '

'Oh! Because it was true. ' She looks at him askance. 'And because I wanted a Star. You do too! Don 't you? '

'Well, yes, but ' '

But what? He doesn 't know. He doesn 't really know at all what he 's thinking, except that the girl in front of him is strange and that the color of her eyes annoys him and the color of her hair irritates him and the two stupid horns she wears frustrate him. True, they always have and he 's always found her acutely, uniquely vexing, but right now, everything about her feels particularly infuriating.

In the quiet after he 's trailed off, Anya 's expression has grown increasingly flat. Soon, she 's just about scowling at him. 'You think too much! ' she grumbles. Then she grabs his wrist and marches them to the bus.

'

'I don 't like it, ' murmurs Loid to Yor in the kitchen.

Yor follows his line of sight. Through the pass-through window, she can see Anya sitting beside Damian at the coffee table, both reading the same book. 'What do you mean? ' she asks.

Loid tips his head in their direction. 'Him. Coming here. For her. '

'But he 's been coming over for a week now. You seemed okay last week. '

'I was scoping out the situation. '

'I don 't understand. '

'I was trying to determine his motives. Or Anya 's. '

'I ' don 't understand. '

'I 've already infiltrated Donovan 's circle, ' Loid says, dropping his voice to a low whisper. 'Why is she doing this? Does she know something new that I don't? Does Damian? '

'I think she just needs help with her reading. '

'I can read to her. '

'She already told you why it's too late for that. '

Yor tries to interpret the expression Loid is wearing. With a start, she realizes he 's ' pouting? Biting her lip, she turns her attention back to pouring hot cocoa, lest she burst into laughter.

'What does he want from her? '

'They 're only 10. I don 't think either of them is thinking that deeply. ' Cocoa poured, she drops a generous amount of marshmallows in each mug, then grasps them by the handles, one in each hand. 'I think it 's okay, Loid. '

At that moment, Anya slides her book over to Damian, leaning into him and poking at something on her page. He addresses whatever it is she wants from him, too quietly for Yor to hear. Anya, however, says 'Thanks! ' brightly enough for perhaps even their neighbors to hear. The bridge of Damian 's nose turns pink.

Yor smiles. Anya is very likeable, and Damian seems to feel similarly, which Yor likes. It 's much better than any potential bullying on his part. She turns to exchange this sentiment with Loid, only to find him glowering at the scene with narrow eyes. Without removing his gaze, he takes one of the mugs she 's holding from the hand closest to him. Yor moves to hand him the other, only for him to reach around her, chest warm against her back as he takes it himself. Then he leaves to deliver the drinks, face taking on a very Loid-like, less Twilight-like expression.

An odd thrill zips through Yor. Warmth blooms in her cheeks. She shakes it off, though, and prepares the next cups of tea and coffee for her and Loid.

'

The moment Camilla enters their office annex, Yor shoots to her feet. 'Camilla! '

The honey-blonde jumps back. 'G 'good morning, Yor. Is something wrong? '

'Not at all, ' says Yor hurriedly. 'I was just wondering if you had time to teach me to cook again. I 'I 'm sorry I haven 't been keeping up. '

Camilla 's mouth pops into a little 'o, ' and then she smiles. 'Well, you 've been dealing with more important things. I 'm free after work tonight, actually. Would you like to come then? '

'That would be wonderful! '

For the rest of the day, Camilla is especially chipper. On their walk back to her apartment, halfway through describing her party planning, she interrupts herself to say, 'Oh, I remembered the name of what you wanted to make last time! Borscht. Was that what you were thinking this time? '

'Yes! '

'Perfect! ' And then she launches back into her recount.

Several hours later, though 'cabbages blackened in pots and beets aflame on the stove 'Camilla looks the farthest from happy she 's ever been. A vein throbs in her forehead. "Yor! ' she snaps. 'Didn 't I tell you the vegetables can go in the pot all at once?! '

'But the meat is cooked first, I thought it made sense for the vegetables to ' '

' 'You ' thought it made sense!

You!

Why would you listen to yourself?! You don 't know how to cook! '

'But 'but it made sense! '

'No! Listen to

me!

Brown the meat, then throw all the vegetables into the pot, let those soften ' '

'But why the meat first, why not the vegetables ' '

'Sh sh sh sh sh! ' Both Camilla 's hands flap around her head like it's a pie and Yor 's questions are flies. 'There 's no 'why!' There 's only 'do!' '

'But ' why? '

'

YOR!

'

'

Loid leaves her office battered and bruised and glaring at her. Sylvia smiles widely and waves goodbye like she hasn 't just thrown him around a cement room for two hours. A few other handlers knock on her door to ask if she wants to get drinks with them, but she wards them off.

In the bathroom, she rinses her hands, staring at her reflection but actually checking the stalls for any stragglers from her peripheral. Turning off the faucet, she ducks her head beneath each partition for extra measure. Nobody. She does the same in the men 's bathroom.

As she makes her way down the hall, the lights flicker before returning to a quarter of their brightness, signaling that there 's nobody left in the building 'and that she hasn 't been detected by the guards. Instead of heading back to her office, she takes a detour down another hallway, passing door after door until she sees the nameplate she 's looking for:

Records Library.

Despite being alone, she lets herself in as noiselessly as she can. Like her office, there are no surveillance systems.

The first block of cabinets covers case files A through C. The second, D through F. Coming to her knees, she slides open the second to last drawer on the first 'D ' cabinet, running her fingers through the tabs, slowing at 'Donovan. ' Inside that folder are several more folders.

Desmond. Demetrius. Donovan. Dorothea, Daryl, Druvin, Damascus,

Sylvia tries not to roll her eyes at the sheer length of their alliterative ancestry and political involvement. But finally, her bright pink polish comes to a stop.

Melinda.

Plucking the manila folder out from amidst all the others, she lets it fall open over her palm. Where the majority of the Donovan 's folders are bulging and greedy with paper 'even Damian 's 'Melinda 's, by comparison, is unusually emaciated. A few handwritten notes on a paper with a Desmond letterhead are sprinkled throughout the newspaper clippings, most of them yellowing with age. The script is round and elegant, the copy, friendly and girlish 'she must have written these when she was young. They read like love letters, but not in the coy, lovesick way. Caring and involved, perhaps.

Flipping through the few pages there are, Sylvia stumbles upon a single, sepia-toned photo. She finds Melinda immediately, her downturned eyes looking so much like Damian 's it 's impossible not to recognize her. In fact, she looks so remarkably like Damian 'down to the stray little curls sprouting out from the sides of her head 'that it 's startling. Perhaps it 's because she 's around his age here.

The only marked difference is the width of her smile. With her perpetually-sad eyes and the wide-open curve of her mouth, she looks approachable and kind, a sharp contrast to Damian 's pretension. True to that, she 's at the center of a hodgepodge of other laughing and smiling children, as if they 're all magnetically drawn to her.

None of the children, not even Melinda, look particularly high-status. They appear to be at school, but the playground is just dirt and sparse grass. Their uniforms aren 't much more than white blouses and thin, wool skirts for the girls and plain trousers for the boys. None of their shoes shine.

One boy catches Sylvia 's eye, but she can 't place the familiarity of his face. Frowning, she slips the photo in her pocket 'she 'll return it once she 's made a copy 'then shuts the file, slipping it back between the other files of those who have married into the Donovan family tree. With practised stealth, she heads back to her office. Packs her briefcase. Dons her hat and coat. The elevator ticks down to the lobby at the speed of molasses, but when Sylvia is finally out in the night air, she hurries back home.

Aaron is waiting at the foot of her door, mouth happy and tongue lolling as he pants with joy at her appearance. Once she shuts herself in, she breathes a sigh of relief, coming to a squat to pet Aaron. He whines happily.

Surrounded by her familiar mess and her dog, she no longer feels as though she 's being watched.